


Moonshine

by Sansastarklives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1920s AU, F/M, Prohibition AU, speakeasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:38:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sansastarklives/pseuds/Sansastarklives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the prohibition underway in 1920s America, there are only three things a teenage girl truly wants: jazz, moonshine, and a dark haired stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonshine

     The street was draped in darkness, a single light bleakly shining in the distance, casting an orange glow on the aging building. The air tasted bitter; of deceit and mischief. There was not a soul in sight, no indication that anyone had stepped foot on the abandoned street for years. _Maybe they hadn’t_. She could have gotten the wrong address. The thought caused her stomach to twist tighter and tighter within her, dread coursing through her veins. The gentle clicking of her small heeled shoes echoed in time with her thoughts: _go back, go back, go back_.

     All too soon was her walk over and she arrived at a small gap between two buildings, easily missed if you weren’t purposefully looking. She slipped inside, stopping at the small black door. Why was she here anyway? She hadn’t drank a lot before the prohibition, so why was she now willing to risk arrest for a simple _drink_? It was the thrill of course. She was a true stereotypical girl at heart- wanting what she can’t have. Whispers of _speakeasies_ had filtered through the town mere weeks after the law had been put in place, and once they reached the auburn haired girl’s, it was certain she too would seek one out in the darkness. The wolf had scented blood, and the chase was begun, the thrill filling her with a giddiness she had not known since childhood.

     It was the thrill that made her knock on the door, and wait.

     A small peephole snapped open, revealing a pair of squinting eyes. “Yes?” A husky voice commanded, the owner’s gaze sweeping over her body from behind the door. _Come on, Sansa, you can do this._ The wolf within howled, and she smiled sweetly.

     “Pomegranates.” The word rolled off her tongue perfectly. She was shuffled inside quickly, led through a narrow hallway, until she reached a small alcove. The man watched her for a moment, thoughts flickering behind his beady eyes. He moved to speak before stopping himself, uncertainty lining his gaze.

     “Be careful in there, miss.” He nodded, before heading back the way they came from. She made her way through the building, until jazz music filled the air, smoke filled her lungs, and the bittersweet scent of alcohol teased her nostrils. The hall was packed with people dressed in finery: young women with short hair, and shorter dresses danced in the centre, cigarettes dangling from their lips as men watched them with lustful gazes. Tables littered through the room, small candles casting some light in the dark, clouded space.

     Soon she was standing at the bar, drink in hand, watching the scene before her. What was there to be careful about in a place like this? Smiles replaced the usual miserable glare of strangers, bright lights replaced the black and white scenery of the world, soothing songs and genuine laughter replaced the drab cries of the city. It was the real world you needed to be careful in, where all hid their faces behind carefully placed masks, where people practiced false curtsies and sweet words, where families were killed, and the streets where drenched in innocent blood…

     No, she promised herself she would not think about that on a night like this. She lifted the glass to her ruby lips and willed herself to forget. The drink was bitter on her tongue. The liquid seemed to burn as it trickled down her throat, causing her to splutter and gasp, clutching her chest, as cough after cough erupted from her lips.

      “First taste of moonshine?” An unknown voice laughed beside her. A man with dark, silvering hair, and a well-placed smirk stood against the bar, gaze fixed on the dancing crowd, giving no hint that he had been speaking to her at all: except for that mocking smile. She nodded, practically throwing the drink on to the bar. He hissed as he drank himself, gaze finally settling on her. “It does taste awful, but it does the job.” His grey-green eyes traced her figure, the corners of his lips twitching as he did so. “Although you don’t look old enough for that. What’s a good like you doing in a place like this?”

     “I am old enough…” She snapped, defensively. As childish as she knew it was, she took another swig as though to prove her point, however her face squished into an expression of clear disgust. “What do you mean ‘a girl like me’?” He chuckled at that, the sound low and mocking. The scent of mint lingered as he leant towards her, until his face were mere inches from her own.

     “A good girl.” Sansa’s brows merged at that, annoyance bubbling through her. “It’s not necessarily bad: the word loves a good girl. However” he continued, watching her irritated expression. He seemed more amused than anything. She was so very _glad_ to be so entertaining for him. “Good girls are predictable, which can be dangerous in a place like this.” Question after question formed and died on her tongue, until she settled on just one.

     “Who says I’m a good girl? I’m at a speakeasy for Gods’ sake. I’m risking _arrest_.” He just seemed more amused at that, chuckling into his glass. She didn’t know why she was even letting him get to her, she didn’t even know the man: needn’t care what he thought. She found herself wanting to prove him wrong all the same. Without a thought she downed the remainder of her glass, forcing herself not to gag, or choke on the bitterness. He merely raised his brows at that, ordering her another before moving back to watch a group of girls dancing together.

     They stood in silence as minutes dragged by, allowing the effects of the drinks to take place. The damned moonshine was famous for its fast effects: worse than any legal alcohol could have achieved. Soon her head began to spin slightly, a focused gaze gained only through concentration. Through the fogginess she grabbed his hand, leading him to an empty space on the dance floor, hands joining at his neck, whilst his gripped her hips, the two swaying in time to the slow melody of the saxophone.

     “I don’t even know your name,” she whispered, her steps becoming clumsy, until his hands were guiding her hips into slower, smoother movements.

     “And I yours,” he smirked. She frowned, resting her head against his shoulder, eyes closed in an attempt to close the ever spinning room. “Petyr.” Through her drunken thoughts, she remembered a name she had rehearsed in fear of anyone finding out the _reputable_ Sansa Stark had visited an illegal speakeasy.

     “Mine’s Alayne,” she mumbled into the dark clothing of his jacket.

     “No its not,” he chuckled, one hand traveling up her back until it buried in her auburn curls. If she were sober, she would have wondered how he knew: how much he knew, but now what not a time for such serious questions.

      “Sansa,” she laughed, moving back to face him, ignoring his mumbled _predictable_. A quick spin and her back was flush against his front, their hands entangled at her stomach. His lips trailed against the pale skin of her neck, all too gentle for her drunken want. He hummed appreciatively. Soon his lips were at her earlobe, nibbling lightly on the soft skin there.

     “You should run, Sweetling. You should run away from a man like me: that’s what a _good_ girl would do.” His breath tickled her ear, but his body told a different story: clutching her tighter against him. “Run away home…”

     “I don’t want to run,” she whispered, teeth sinking into her lower lip. She turned in his arms, gaze flickering from his unsmiling eyes to his smirking lips. After a heartbeat, her lips crashed against him, moulding perfectly against his own. All too soon he pulled away, guiding her back through the building, towards the exit. Something in her mind told her this was wrong, he was dangerous, she should have run. His grip tighter as she struggled to get free. _Why did I kiss him, what am I doing?_ He hushed her as she shouted for release. Her unfocused sight landed on a figure: the man who opened the door. How long ago that now seemed to her.

      “Sir,” he nodded towards the man behind her. _Petyr_.

      “Make sure she gets home safe, she’s had a little too much moonshine.” He pressed a quick kiss against her temple, before turning back towards the hall. The door man, guided her outside towards a waiting car.

     “I don’t like moonshine,” she pouted. “It gets you drunk too fast. Petyr knew what, I think. _Who_ is he?” She slurred from the back seat, heading leaning against the window, grateful for the cool glass against her warm skin. The man seemed to squirm slightly in his seat, looking from the road to her to the road again.

      “Mr Baelish? I thought he’d have told you.” He seemingly thought out loud. “Well he owns the speakeasy. He’s the one who let you in, I thought you were underage you see.” Sansa sat in silence the rest of the way, trying to reflect on the new information, but her head hurt and she decided sober Sansa could worry.

      The man helped her to her door, waiting until she had let herself in before turning to leave. He quickly turned back, an uneasy expression on his face. “I almost forgot.” He mumbled, avoiding the girl’s gaze. “Mr Baelish told me to tell you that he will be at the bar again at the same time next week, so be a good girl.” She knew what the man didn’t say as he smiled and walked back to his car, knew the rest of Petyr’s sentence. _Be predictable_.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit rusty, it's been a while for this pairing, but I hope you liked it.


End file.
